location; Hop Notch with; @saintbayrak - closed
Weston really wasn’t much of a drinker, never had been, but he did like a craft beer every now and again, like the basic ass white man that he was, and the only place in town to get something that wasn’t Coors Light seemed to be the brewery. He’s ordered an IPA as he was waiting for Saint, and nodded at him when he saw the other man walk in. “There he is, the sexiest man in Crescent Harbor! Come get him ladies…or gents, I don’t know maybe you’re widening your horizons.” He reached out and clapped the man on the back as he came to sit with him, taking a sip of his beer. “The fuck took you so long man? I’ve been here for like, eight minutes already.”
Although Saint Bayrak had a fairly large circle of acquaintances, there were few he truly considered friends. Friendship, after all, implied a certain degree of trust and forthcomingness — and while Crescent Harbor presented him with an opportunity to start over, the skeletons in his closet safely packed and stored within boxes marked by distance, it was almost too easy to stay in the comfort of keeping others at arms’ length. It was, perhaps, why he enjoyed his friendship with Weston Keller. The other man didn’t pry, and both of them were content to keep things at surface level, all easy jokes and an occasional beer now and then. It was the sort of simplicity that he’d never truly experienced in his life.
Saint gave a small huff of amusement as he sat down next to Weston. “You know, it’s embarrassing when you call yourself that in public,” he volleyed, tone mildly chastising before his severe expression gave way to an open grin. He gave a slight raise of his shoulders at the question. “Work.” His gaze narrowed at the other man in the next moment, however. “Eight minutes,” Saint echoed mockingly. A thoughtful pause. “You sound like you haven’t been getting laid.”














